That the sea is a dangerous place is
sufficiently documented. The perils
are well represented in film and fiction and include sharks, pirates,
containers lost off ships floating invisibly just below the waterline, gales,
unlit vessels, fire, rogue waves, gangrene, explosion, corrupt navies, food
poisoning, infection, dismasting, hurricanes, sinking, rudder failure, burns,
civilians driving nuclear submarines, contaminated water, scurvy, broken
bones, tsunamis, rats, contusions, fog, saltwater crocodiles, dehydration,
lightening, anchor failure, fishing nets, hypothermia, terrorists, whales,
malaria, unmarked obstructions, strong currents, exposure, lee shores,
waterspouts, reefs, large ships, seasickness, mutiny, dismemberment,
dementia, and death. We need not speak of these here, but will note that
Samuel Johnson said that no man who had the wherewithal to get himself into a
decent prison should consider going to sea.

We are not ashamed to say, however, that we find none of the above
difficulties as daunting as the distress we fear as a consequence of our long
separation from hearth and home, friends and family, and the comforts
attendant thereto. Both skipper and crew live lives full of the common
pleasures and amusements. Neither has a bone to pick with the world, nor the
desire to bitterly rid himself of the problems of contemporary life. Perhaps
the adventure will make homesickness moot, but perhaps not. We just have no
way of knowing, and for this in particular we have no emergency back-up plan.

So where's to find them such as would sail? The captain must be a person
of unshakable will, great personal discipline, and possessed of the ability
to lead and inspire men. He should be an able navigator, knowledgeable in all
areas of the ship's operations, and have the ability to repair anything on
board at sea if necessary. He should be of positive disposition and be able
to make swift and sound judgments with insufficient information even when ill
and exhausted. He should be physically and mentally courageous. A flair for
derring-do and a gravitation towards good luck will fill out the picture.

Quite obviously, we don't know anyone like that, but for better or worse,
there's no test to take or certification to acquire if one is inclined to
undertake this sort of thing. So we're just going to do it ourselves.

Our crew, Terry Shrode, is one of those stouthearted men about whom
you've heard; and indeed one would have to search the pages of fiction to
find a companion more boon than he. Unperturbed by the prospect of going to
the foredeck in a gale, tracking down a fuel leak, or loading 2000 pounds of
fuel, water, and provisions aboard, he is withal a steadfast, gentle soul
never prone to utter a discouraging word. Men, I have observed, are never
named Faith, or Hope, or Charity. But Terry steadfastly exhibits all three.

About your correspondant, the captain, the less said the better, though
it might be argued that his success in enlisting Mr. Shrode in this endeavor
is a point in his favor.

As for onboard routine, it is natural to ask, "What do you do at night?
Do you just go to sleep?"

And indeed, had we servants, we might. However, someone must stand watch
24 hours a day and there are only two of us. Sailors who undertake
shorthanded voyages deal with this in different ways. Some just sleep when
they feel like it, leaving providence on watch. Others sleep for short
spells, not more than twenty minutes at a time, which is approximately how
long it takes between a large ship's appearance on the horizon and a
collision. Our plan is to split the night into two six-hour watches and have
shorter ones during the day, so someone will theoretically always be alert.
We will experiment with this when we get out there but for now we think that,
except in difficult conditions, this gives the crew a solid period of rest
and is better than dividing the night into smaller increments. Nevertheless,
the combination of less than normal sleep and the wear and tear on the body
caused by the ceaseless motion of the boat mean that fatigue will be a
constant problem.

Entertainments at sea are rather limited. Although conditions can change
abruptly, the typical experience is hour after hour of similar weather, where
little needs to be done so far as trimming sails and adjusting the course are
concerned. Steering will be done by hand only in harbor and close to shore,
assuming that the vane and autopilot work. Navigation, of course, will be a
daily and sometimes hourly job depending on how close we are to land. It is a
pleasure when the weather is good and the boat is moving well but not so
jolly as conditions deteriorate, at which very time it is necessary to attend
to it the more diligently. We will have books, musical instruments, a stereo,
and the computer. We'll be talking on the radio with other boats and stations
on land and will be emailing you with the latest dish. We'll have a fishing
line out. But the vast majority of the time, there will be nothing to do.